


Tradition

by SpockIsTheWord



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:12:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpockIsTheWord/pseuds/SpockIsTheWord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is the son of Lord Stilinski of Beacon Hills. All his life Stiles has only known the same boring interior of Beacon Hills Castle. In celebration of a recent victory of which his knights took part in, Lord Stilinski calls a tourney. Stiles makes the mistake of thinking this’ll be the same boring event as ever before. He certainly didn’t expect a dark, brooding knight, Sir Hale, to catch his eye, nor did he expect what followed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! It's been a very, very long while since I've wrote a fanfiction at all. This is going to be a pilot chapter, just to test the waters and the idea a bit!  
> Huge, HUGE thanks to my beta! Alice is a fucking godsend and I love her and hfgdjksjs.   
> Enjoy and please leave me a message, negative or positive! :D

Stiles’ life is possibly one of the most boring lives that you could ever imagine. 

The sun rose over the dark green expanse that stood between Beacon Hills Castle and the horizon. It was very unusual that Stiles be separated from his bed so early in the morning as he much preferred to while away his time tucked between the warm covers than spend it in the bitter, chilled morning air.  
Dreams of his mother had plagued him again, disrupting his sleep. Stiles sighed as he turned his face away from the sky drenched in orange hues and directed his gaze onto the castle grounds. He could see the servants mulling around, bringing food and clothes to the castle. Most paused to share a happy word with each other and others continued on their way. 

Stiles could emulate their joy this morning. Scott was finally returning from his visit to McCall Keep to see his mother. The only downside to Scott’s return was that they would have to commence training again. Such was the tradition that a son was sent away to a neighbouring castle and trained in the way of a squire, in the hopes that one day they would become knights. Stiles didn’t want to be a knight but his father wanted him to follow in his footsteps. Stiles may not have liked the idea himself, but he could not deny his father.

Scott is much better with the weapons and Stiles knows that. Scott is dark and tall and handsome but Stiles is skinny and awkward and certainly not handsome. Scott wields swords and Stiles fights with wit and words. Lord John Stilinski of Beacon Hills had no choice, it was tradition and not even he could change the social expectations that Stiles was to follow.

Stiles frowned again, rubbing a pale hand over his face and dislodging the sleep in his eyes. He would call for a bath to be run. Yes, that would calm him.

~.~.~.~.~

“Scott!” Stiles shouted into the midday air as the party arrived at the castle gates. Lord John had followed behind in a calmer manner to greet his ward. “I missed you! Not training that comes with you, of course, but I missed you!”

Truth be told, Stiles could talk a mile a minute. His mother was remembered in the exact same way. A kind, gentle girl who was enthusiastic about anything and everything that she came across; she could talk for days and days and there would still be a crowd left to listen. She was well loved, which made her even more of a loss to them all.  
“Stiles, I missed you too!” Scott greeted just as happily, pulling his friend into a hug. “I missed training.” Scott always looked like a puppy.  
Stiles laughed. “That’s because you’re good at it!” 

Scott laughed with him as they walked back into the castle. Scott listened intently to Stiles rambling about everything that had happened since Scott had left as they entered the Great Hall. Announcements had yet to be made that morning, instead Lord Stilinski had decided to postpone them until after he had personally greeted Scott back into his care, as ever following tradition.

John sat in the very middle of the large dais, rasied above the stone floor of the Hall itself. It was draped with various red cloths, such was the Stilinski family colour, and had 1 long table, atop of which stood 3 big chairs. Scott sat on the left of John and Stiles on the right, his chair closer than Scott’s to show the difference in rank.  
“My lord,” Their herald called, holding a piece of parchment in his hand, various notes scrawled on in a beautiful script. Stiles had a reasonable script, Scott not so much. “I bring news of battle”

John nodded and the herald bowed to his lord, Stiles and Scott. “Continue.” John instructed, sitting back in his chair to hear the news.  
The herald cleared his throat sharply. “The battle of Cragfell was won. Your knights seized victory. 3 men were lost, my lord”  
John’s enthusiasm was quickly extinguished. “Who were these men?”

The herald consulted his piece of paper. “Lord Lahey and 2 squires from Castle Martin”

John nodded. “What of our own men? How did they fair?”

“It was they who secured the victory, my lord. Without them it would have been defeat”

Stiles couldn’t help but think to Lydia Martin. He wondered if she had known the squires personally. He would have to send his condolences along with those of his fathers. He no longer held his crush for Lydia as he had in previous years but they remained good friends, Lydia often visiting the castle along with Allison Argent. Scott was smitten with Allison and he certainly didn’t let Stiles hear the end of it. Allison this, Allison that. Allison was beautiful and kind and strong. Stiles liked having her at court, even if he had to suffer a love struck Scott for the pleasure of it all.

“In that case,” John stood up proudly. “We shall have a tourney this time in 1 turn of the moon to celebrate the victory and safe return of our men! We shall also remember our fallen.”

Something told Stiles that Lord Lahey would not be remembered as fondly. He was an abusive drunk, had little love from his sons, and even less love from the neighbouring houses and small folk.

“It is open to all knights! There shall be sword fighting and a melee!”

And with that the court burst into life. Stiles sat back in his chair and sighed, he just prayed he wasn’t forced to join in again. A faint memory of being dragged around by a horse crossed Stiles’ mind. The brunette looked to his friend and Stiles rolled his eyes. Scott was laughing; this would be fun indeed.


End file.
